


Sniezka

by Fen_Assan



Series: Notice Board Stories [2]
Category: The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt - Fandom, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/M, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Love, Magic, Melancholy, Mild Smut, Please Mind the Lack of Warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 11:19:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7313119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fen_Assan/pseuds/Fen_Assan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a village celebrated by bards, Geralt joins in the festivities and meets someone he will not soon forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sniezka

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as another chapter of "Tales Behind the Scribbles", but it grew into something a lot longer, and not postable under G-rated fic, so here it is as a stand-alone story. 
> 
> Please be warned that this is not the happiest of my Witcher stories, probably brought on by the profound sadness I felt at finishing all the games and dlcs the other day. :) I still have a few Witcher books to read, and a ton of stories to write though, so yay!
> 
> Your feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy.

"Whoa, Roach!" the Witcher leaned backwards to confirm his command to the bay mare. She obeyed, but let her displeasure be known with a whinny as she pawed the ground, impatient to move on. Geralt took the reins in one hand and patted the animal on her neck with the other. "It's alright, girl, we'll be on our way shortly. I'm hungry too." He directed the horse towards the signs carved out on wooden planks nailed to a pole in the middle of a crossroads, to read them without having to dismount. "Huh," he snorted, seeing the name of one particular village, "seems we're going there after all." He spurred Roach on, and she was happy to oblige, swiftly changing gait from trot to canter, lifting dust along the road to Brunwich. 

He had heard of the place first a while ago from none other than Dandelion. He had been just about to go get a drink with the money for a completed contract, when he had bumped into the troubadour in one of the narrow streets of Oxenfurt.

"What are _you_ doing here?" both men demanded of each other by way of a greeting. 

"Just finished a contract, drowners," Geralt nodded to the side, unnecessarily indicating the direction of the said drowners' nest.

"Come to visit a friend," Dandelion shared quietly, darting careful looks around, "in secret."

"Mhm," the Witcher confirmed his understanding. "Wanna drink?" The bard clasped his hands together and smiled mirthfully.

"Oh my, Geralt, do you have to ask? Of course I do, especially when you're buying," the poet positively beamed as the two immediately took a turn and started for the nearest tavern.

"Don't count on me wasting my whole fee tonight," Geralt frowned at his friend, who only waved his concerns off with an artistic hand gesture that made Geralt growl with annoyance and instantly regret his own suggestion. 

"Come-come, your good work demands to be celebrated." He produced a lute from below his cloak and started strumming it and singing as he walked. 

_"Our hero of silver hair,_  
_The people saved from despair,_  
_By scorching the monsters' lair, and_  
_Releasing a maiden fair."_

"Huh!" Dandelion exclaimed, punctuating his excitement with a harmonious chord, "It's not bad, not bad at all! Will be even better after I get that drink you keep nagging me about." 

"There was no maiden involved," the Witcher rasped disapprovingly.

"Ugh, Geralt, this is poetry! This is music! This is _art_!" Dandelion dismissed. Geralt shook his head and sighed, following in the shorter man's footsteps. 

He did not spend all of his hard-earned money that night, but a considerable sum nonetheless. In exchange, Dandelion bestowed upon him plentiful news and gossip, half of which Geralt did not in the least wish to know. Despite the presence of Dandelion's favourite activities of drinking, eating, singing, and pinching barmaids' pert behinds, there came a time for him to leave.

"I sorely regret that I have to leave you, my dearest friend, but, you see, duty calls," he strummed the strings once.

"Mhm. Duty," Geralt muttered, unconvinced as to the nature of that duty. 

"But of course! Duty of friendship! Of love!" 

"Love?" the Witcher scoffed and took another sip of his no-longer frothy beer. Dandelion leaned in closer across the table.

"The love of physical kind is love nonetheless, my dear friend." Geralt chuckled at his suspicions confirmed. "And where are you heading next?" 

"East."

"Hmm, how far east?" 

"Far," Geralt did not feel like getting into detail about his plans.

"Oh! You must visit Brunwich then. It's an exceptionally picturesque village, surrounded by a lake and a forest. Ah, it is simply lovely!" The bard's face assumed an expression of tipsy delight. "And so very special! All bohemians from Oxenfurt find their escape from the hottest months of summer there! I," he enunciated, "once won the contest for the most beautiful feathered cap there!" 

"I'll make sure to avoid the place then. Thanks, Dandelion," Geralt lifted his tankard in a mocking cheer before taking another sip. 

"Ah, you're probably right," the bard sighed, disappointed. "You'll be in those parts way too early in the year, it will be entirely empty. But for the local farmers, of course. Well, another time, my friend, another time. Maybe I'll even take you there with me one day." He flashed Geralt a generous smile as he exited the inn, leaving the empty tankards and plates on the table and not a single coin. 

Geralt shook his head remembering that meeting. As he was nearing what he was certain had to be Brunwich, it surprised him the village was actually walled. A wooden fence tall enough for a human to be unable to jump over, ran in both directions from an even slightly taller gate. Another surprise came in the form of their notice board, which stood a few paces outside the gates. It was unusual: most settlements positioned their notice boards not only inside, but close to the centre of the town or village. He dismounted, tied Roach to a nearby tree, and proceeded to read the parchments nailed to the board. He was looking for a place to eat and rest, but since he was already here, it was worth checking if there was any work for a Witcher. 

Just as he continued being surprised, this time by the fact that most notices referred to other places nearby instead of Brunwich itself, the gate creaked open, and a short man with a mop of greying brown hair walked out and towards the board. He carried a rolled parchment in one hand and a small hammer and a single long nail in the other. He whistled cheerfully on his way, and gave Geralt an unexpectedly friendly smile and a nod.

"Good day to you, my good man!" and proceeded to unroll and nail the notice to the board. Geralt returned the greeting, but did not move, reading the text immediately instead. It announced the forthcoming Belleteyn festivities in the village. When his work was done, the man tucked the hammer under his belt and extended his hand to Geralt.

"I don't believe we know each other. I'm Neddy, the Ealdorman." Geralt arched his eyebrows in surprise at the man's openness to strangers, but shook the man's hand. 

"Geralt, a Witcher."

"Wait a minute! Geralt, as in Geralt of Rivia? The famous Geralt of Rivia?" The Witcher cringed slightly at such excitedness.

"Mhm, I guess. Don't know how folks from around here would've heard about me though."

"How? But from Master Dandelion's superb ballads, of course! I'm such a fan of your work, sir, such dangerous profession, such noble deeds," Neddy kept shaking Geralt's hand enthusiastically, holding it with both of his. He only let it go when the Witcher cleared his voice. "Ah! Do forgive my lack of hospitality. What brings you to our part of the world? Would you honour my family by staying with us for a while?" _Well, this escalated quickly_ , Geralt thought. 

"I was passing through, looking for a place to stay the night and have some food for myself and my mare. Wouldn't want to impose though, a simple tavern room will be fine. I have the coin," he added for clarification. 

"No-no, by no means! My wife and I will be happy to host you. Our inn is currently not in function, I fear. The repairs," he explained with a significant look and a nod, starting his walk towards the village proper and motioning Geralt to follow, "before the season, you see." The Witcher did not hide his complete ignorance of what the man was talking about. 

"Well, the bards, the poets, the musicians, of course! The gentle souls, along with their capacious stomachs," he giggled, "all arrive at the height of summer. We are preparing to meet them as ready as ever. Good business for the village, you see."

"Mhm," Geralt confirmed, "I can imagine." Inside the fence the village looked nothing too special in his opinion. Although it was true that the houses were quite pretty, and it was all very green, with flower beds dotting bright colours all around. The Ealdorman took him on a brief - and the only available for the small size of the place - tour. When they reached a small hill, Neddy tucked his fists to his hips and rounded his chest proudly. The view that opened up from there was indeed worth of pride: the hill ran down to the idyllic lake, framed by a forest on almost all sides. A few boats were swaying on the surface of the lake, and a couple of white swans were swimming in the middle. 

"It's beautiful," Geralt praised, "I understand why poets like it so much here."

"Indeed! Indeed," the Ealdorman beamed. "Come see my house and be welcome."

"When we're on that subject," the Witcher started somewhat awkwardly, "is there anything I can help with? Any work for a Witcher? I'd like to repay you for your hospitality." 

"Hmm, that's awfully nice of you, Geralt, but I can't think of any. You see, we don't normally have many problems here, especially now, when there's not as much life and drama here before the bohemians arrive. We do get attacked by bandits from time to time, but no monsters. Well, no other monsters," he corrected himself, and continued humming while tapping a finger over his lips. "I know! You can help me organise the festivities for Belleteyn! We have a couple of days left, and lots of food and drink need to be collected from the villagers, you saw my notice. You could come do the rounds with me, starting tomorrow morning. What do you say?" Geralt scratched his head - this was not exactly a Witcherly kind of work, but if it was something they needed help with...

"All right. I'll help."

After Roach got taken care of, and after he himself had dinner with the Ealdorman's family, Geralt spent the evening sitting on the hill overlooking the lake, thinking about Belleteyn. He was in fact thinking about Yennefer. He wondered where the sorceress was and what she was going to do on Belleteyn, which coincided with the day of her birth. Twisting a blade of grass between his teeth, his legs stretched out, his eyes focused on a spot far on the horizon, he searched his memory for the times he and Yen had spent that holiday together. And he could remember only one: then they had come to the celebration separately, but had spent all night in each other's arms, and the heat burning between their bodies felt hotter than the bonfires crackling all around them. He sighed. He was going to see her, soon, he hoped. They would be together again soon. 

The morning brought another item on the list of surprises he had already experienced in this odd village. After breakfast, the Ealdorman equipped himself with several pieces of parchment riddled with lists, a piece of charcoal - as quill and inkwell were exceptionally impractical to carry around - and wheeled out a large wooden wheelbarrow, setting it in front of Geralt, who was waiting for him, leaning on the fence, his arms crossed. 

"Well, that's your... tool of the trade for today," Neddy giggled apprehensively.

"You're kidding me," Geralt straightened up and uncrossed his arms. 

"I-I'm sorry, Geralt, but there's nothing else I can use: the farmers have all the draught horses in the fields at this time of year, there's no one to pull a cart."

"Hm. I guess I should be grateful I'm not pulling a cart," Geralt grumbled as he grabbed the handles and started pushing. "Lead the way." 

On their route Geralt learnt that the Ealdorman both commanded respect and caused genuine conviviality in his villagers. They were met with varying degrees of cordiality, but no one was hostile or aloof, even towards himself, a Witcher. Neddy, he also learnt, was an incorrigible chatter-box, and he kept telling Geralt stories about the village history, sharing amusing anecdotes from the times one poet or another left a lasting impression with their extravagance, and introducing him to both local places and people of interest. 

It was past midday, their cart was getting quite full, but there still remained a few houses to visit. They decided to return to the Ealdorman's place, unloaded the vegetables and the caskets of cider and ale into the cool cellar, and left a yet live lamb in the pen, before heading into the kitchens for a meal. Neddy's wife and children had already eaten and left on their respective business of tending to the cows and playing outside, so the two men ate alone. Geralt wondered if it was the absence of others that spurred the Ealdorman to share another local story.

"You see, Geralt, there's something I'm not sure I even should tell you, but I think you'll notice something anyway, so it's better that you find out from me." Geralt arched a brow questioningly at Neddy's evasive introduction. "There might be... something unusual in our village," he began anew, after a sigh.

"Oh really?" The Witcher hoped the sarcasm was not seeping through his question. 

"Yes. There is a girl. No, let me start from the beginning. There is an old couple, who've lived their whole lives here. They married quite young and were always happy, but they were not blessed with children. They tried, and they went to the pellar, and they prayed to everyone and everything they could, Eternal Fire save their poor souls. But they were never granted a child. Until recently." Neddy's eyes bored into Geralt's and his voice carried in it the significance of a secret, or a mystery. 

"What's so unusual about that? How old are they?"

"Old, Geralt, really old, past childbearing age for certain, but the strangeness is not in that. It is in the child they received, they found, as they say. I don't know where they could have found her because they don't really leave the house further than their barn or the vegetable patch. But that is not the oddest thing yet. The most unusual in all this is the girl herself. She was a child when she appeared, although not a babe, she could walk and talk. And... she's a young woman now," he paused dramatically, and Geralt started losing his patience with this story, which looked to him like nothing more than common gossip. He suppressed his urge to ask his host to cut the crap and continued chewing his food. 

"She has grown," Neddy continued, unprompted, "in the span of slightly more than two savaeds." Now that was something certainly worth a Witcher's attention. 

"Has the girl shown any irregular behaviour? Is anything else unusual about her?" Geralt squinted.

"Oh no, nothing evil, if you're thinking that," the Ealdorman waved him off, "she's the friendliest and loveliest thing, Sniezka, has done no harm to anyone, on the contrary. Everyone loves her, not just her parents."

"Hmm. And how does everyone react to her... overly speedy growing?" 

"We don't... much," Neddy shrugged, "her parents say she's a gift. They thank all - the Eternal fire, and Melitele, and prophet Lebioda for her. And she's so nice, everyone just... accepts her. She's our little miracle." 

"So there's nothing you want me to do about it, to investigate, or anything," Geralt stated rather than asked, pushing an empty plate aside. 

"No! No. I just wanted you to know. Because Master Dandelion says Witchers can feel magic and magical things, so I thought... maybe you'd feel something when you meet her. Just wanted you to know," he repeated, making the Witcher unsure whom he was trying to convince.

"Why are you so sure I'll meet her?"

"We're heading to their house next."

***  
The Ealdorman's knock was answered with a young voice, ringing like a bunch of tiny jingle bells, 

"Coming!", followed by a raspy, old woman's croak interrupted by coughs,

"Don't let anyone in!"

Neddy shuffled his feet and cleared his throat, a bit uneasy, a bit embarrassed, darting a side look at Geralt, who had propped the wheelbarrow against the wall and stood quietly and patiently behind him. The Witcher heard muffled speech inside the house, and hurried steps, light, barely touching the floor. Against the old woman's bidding, the door flew open. As it unexpectedly and unusually opened outward, the motion made a young woman jump out as she held on to the handle. She stumbled out with a laugh: a thick plait of flaxen hair thrown over her shoulder reached down to her hips; her sparkling, icy-blue eyes were framed by just as light lashes and eyebrows; there was not a hint of a blush on her fair skin; even her lips looked pale, but they were stretched in a most sincere and welcoming smile. 

"Good day to you," she turned her gaze from the Ealdorman to the Witcher and quickly looked back inside the house. "I'm afraid my dear Mother is indisposed today," she apologised, "but do come into the kitchen, I'll get you something to drink. It's awfully hot today." With another smile, she let go of the door handle to let her guests pass through. Geralt, momentarily stunned by her beauty and, liveliness and fragility at once, shook his head briefly and entered. 

"Good day, young lady. Thank you for the welcome. I'm a... a guest of the Ealdorman. I'm helping with the preparations for the festival. I'm a Witcher in fact," he felt unbelievably dumb stumbling over his own words. The girl wiped her hands with a cloth, and only then he noticed a thin layer of flour covering her hands, arms, and even specs of it on her face. The ones she brushed off floated in the air now, as if slowed by a spell. She walked through them, taking a step towards him and extended her hand.

"I am Sniezka. And what is your name, Witcher?" he took in her wide grin and the tilt of her head betraying her genuine interest, returned the smile, and shook her hand. It felt soft but firm, and cool. 

"It's Geralt."

"Good to meet you, Geralt. Have a seat, I'll fetch you gentlemen a drink." She motioned for the men to sit on the bench by the table, left to open a square trapdoor in the corner of the kitchen, and swiftly descended the ladder down into the cellar - Geralt felt a rush of cold air rise from underneath. 

As Sniezka returned, she seemed even livelier and friendlier than before. They enjoyed the chilled ale, discussed the festivities, collected the vegetables and a few demijohns of spirits. Geralt was as if dazed throughout the whole conversation, and when he took a demijohn full of ruby liquid Sniezka claimed to be a raspberry vodka from her to store it on the wheelbarrow, their hands touched again. And this time he noticed, that besides the coolness of her fingers despite the warmth of the air and the young woman's constant movement, her proximity made his medallion give a small vibration. He was fascinated: with her, with what she was. He wanted to ask if he would see her at the feast, but stopped himself. She waved them goodbye, and they heard the old woman's voice calling her from inside. 

"I'm coming, Mother," she reassured in a soothing voice before smiling at them again and closing the door. 

The rest of the day went in much the same kind of work, except none of the remaining encounters left such an impression on Geralt. Neddy asked him about her, of course, and the Witcher confessed that there was something magical about her, but he felt no hostility, no darkness about her, only light. The Ealdorman nodded happily at that. 

It turned out they had not collected enough food exactly: there was more than a satisfactory amount of drinks and vegetables, but they needed more meat. Geralt suggested he would go hunting in the nearby forest that very evening. Then the women would have enough time to prepare the whatever meat he managed to procure, mince it, mix it with garlic and pepper and stuff the pig intestines with it to make sausages; and cut up and salt and marinate any larger pieces to be roasted later over the fires. The Ealdorman offered him lads to help out in the hunt, but the Witcher said he preferred to work alone. And he did. 

He moved through the dark forest quietly, fluidly, without disturbing the birds, his cat-like eyes seeing well enough not to trip over the upturned roots. He held his crossbow at the ready. He had already seen a few hares darting about in the underbrush, but deemed them too much fuss - he needed a bigger animal, so he was stalking a deer. He followed its tracks carefully, listening for any sign of competition, but there seemed to be no wolves pursuing the same deer. He finally saw the buck in a clearing and froze, hiding behind a tree. He closed his eyes, not to let their yellow shine betray his presence. All his other senses were alert, he felt the animal was apprehensive, he knew it was looking right in his direction. Geralt persisted in his stillness, even making his heartbeat slow not to spook his prey. The quiet was broken by a couple of ducks that flew up somewhere to the west, their ascend marked by quacking. Moments later, he heard a methodical rustle on the ground - a hedgehog making its way through the grass, sniffing out food. And then he heard gentle snapping of soft twigs - the buck found some young, easily digestible shoots, and was eating. It meant it was less alert than before. 

The Witcher turned on his heels and opened his eyes; the moon was coming up in the sky and had its light reached him, it would make the hunt more difficult. He had to do it now, he had to aim for a perfect shot. He slowed his breathing, and extended his arm holding the long-ago cocked and loaded crossbow. His position allowed him a clear shot behind the shoulder, the one sure to hit vital organs. But it would mean he would sacrifice some meat, and it would mean the deer would not die instantly. He aimed for the neck instead, the preferred shot of elven hunters, mostly because they were simply much better archers to confidently perform it. 

His hand jolted with the shot. The deer heard the sound only when the bolt hit its neck, finding its mark in the jugular vein. The animal staggered as blood starting pouring down its neck, but in less than a heartbeat Geralt was by its side, forming the Axii Sign with his fingers. The stunned buck quieted down and met his death peacefully.  
The Witcher was tying the rope around the animal's legs when he spotted a wisp-like flash of light between the trees, moving soundlessly like a ghost, and felt the hum of his medallion. He knew it was not a ghost though. 

"Come out," he called gently, as not to spook, "I can hear you breathing. I'll do you no harm." Wearing the same light dress as earlier in the day, her long plait snaking down her back, Sniezka appeared from between the trees. She knelt before the dead deer, looked at its glassy dead eye, quiet. She reached out and touched the trail of hot blood running down its hide, and gasped and jerked her hand away as if burnt by it. She wiped her long thin fingers on the grass. 

"Why are you here alone?" Geralt finally broke the silence, dispelling some of the oddity of the scene.

"I like the forest at night, the cool air, the rustle of leaves in the wind, the nature," she turned around, spreading her arms, as if showing him everything she enjoyed.

"Not fond of human company?" he ventured tentatively, finishing his job tying up the deer's leg - he would need to gut it while in the forest.

"Why? I am. But tomorrow's Belleteyn celebration, and there will be ample company," she smiled. "Will I see you there?" It was her who asked, so instead of uttering the same words, he said,

"Yes, you will." She granted him another smile and left without a word, walking slowly, as if floating above the grass, although he heard the rustle her feet made on it. He found himself mystified by the strange girl: there clearly was something magical about her, she did not seem entirely human, but neither did she feel like a monster.

***  
On the night of Belleteyn the commons near the village were brightly lit with bonfires, with the largest one in the centre. There were tables and benches put up, the food was prepared, and the drinks were had aplenty. At the start of the celebrations the Ealdorman made a mercifully brief speech, which was met with general approval and enthusiasm, and which signalled the merrymaking had begun. This fertility festival would last from dusk till dawn, and would see many new couples forming - be it for the night, or for life. It was customary to begin or end relationships on Belleteyn, particularly those of a physical nature, but right after the festival was also when the majority of marriages happened. 

Geralt saw couples everywhere: young, some timid, some fervent; and older, their passion rekindled. Single - or so he presumed - women walked past as he enjoyed his ale and venison, smiling, winking, expressing their wish to see him later. He only cracked polite little smiles in response, and drank to their health and fertility and prosperity, and told them stories. Judging by his listeners' reactions, his eloquence improved the more he imbibed. He did not lose his head though. 

He cleared his throat, stood a bit awkwardly - the bench was packed on his both sides, and apologised for leaving everyone for the call of nature. He did not go far between the trees, his full bladder insisting he relieve himself. On his was back though he realised he must have been somewhat drunk after all, for he had taken a wrong turn. It brought him right next to a young couple enjoying each other: the girl was leaning against a tree with her forearms, and the lad behind her was pounding into her with abandon, drawing mewling noises from her open mouth, his hand palming her bare breast. His head was buried on her shoulder away from Geralt, but the girl was facing in his direction. And she looked at him. She looked, and smiled, and continued moaning. He turned and left, panting, running his fingers through his long white hair. He remembered that Belleteyn with Yennefer: that night they had been just like this, they had each other on every surface, no matter comfortable or not, no matter secluded or in full view, they could not have got enough of each other. How he wished she was there with him now. He felt his blood rush through his veins. 

He ventured deeper into the forest to take a walk that would calm him down, but soon realised he was not going away from the women's giggling and moaning, and the men's groaning, but towards it: inside the forest, there were many more couples seeking pleasure. He cursed quietly. He decided he would go back to the feast. Getting drunk, and enjoying the spectacle of lots of happy people singing and dancing and playing games was his best option for having a good time that night. He leaned against a tree, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply, calming both his mind and his flesh, so when he returned into the company of people, his bulging trousers would not be seen as an invitation. 

On his way to a large ale barrel he crossed paths with Sniezka. She looked more beautiful than ever, her eyes had a wild gleam to them, as if she was drunk, on either mead or emotion, or both. She wore a light blue dress and a brightly coloured shawl over her shoulders. The neckline and cut of the dress were modest, but did a poor job of concealing her enticing figure, both slim and shapely. Her hair was done more elaborately: braided into the shape of a crown on top of her head, two plaits on each side combined into one, which casually lay over her shoulder. 

"Happy Belleteyn, Geralt," she greeted, and followed him at his invitation to have a drink together. When he handed her a tankard of mead sweetly smelling of honey, her gentle fingers brushed along his calloused ones, for longer than what could be considered accidental. She felt cold as ice. He looked at her face: she was visibly excited, but there was not a sign of blush on her cheeks. Her eyes though glimmered even more brightly as she kept her hand over his.

"You feel... cool. How is that?"

"Must be the slow metabolism of a Witcher," he uttered, his throat suddenly dry and his voice raspy. "What about you? Your fingers are... as if you're freezing. Are you cold?"

"Cold? No!" she exclaimed, her excitement mounting, "It's too hot in fact! It's so hot here I can't bare it. Will you take a walk with me? I need air, water." She trembled slightly, looking at the fires burning tall, their flames reflected in her eyes.

"Of course," he nodded. He downed the contents of his tankard, and they started making their way through the crowd. He thought it was not a good idea for people to see them walking away together, he did not want the girl to suffer from the rumours that would follow, but no one seemed to pay them any heed. Anyone who bumped into them only shouted a drunken greeting, patted him on the shoulder, kissed her on the cheek, raised a glass, and turned to the next person nearby.

"Aren't we going to the lake?" he enquired when Sniezka took a left turn instead of a right. She shook her head.

"Oh no, I like the river better."

"Why?"

"It moves, it flows. The currents make the water clearer there, cooler." 

As they reached the river, the rush of the water over the stones sounded soothing, and it was unexpectedly empty: Geralt did not expect there was a place where they would not see a couple or two. They sat on the bank, close enough for Sniezka to throw off her shoes and plunge her feet into the water, and sigh with pleasure and relief. Without hesitation, Geralt did the same, rolling up his trousers. The water was indeed pleasing and refreshing on his feet. They sat in silence for a while, the young woman with her head thrown back and eyes closed, and Geralt not letting her out of his sight for a second.

"Can I ask you something?" he said hoarsely. 

"Mhm," she smiled.

"You are special, unusual, aren't you?" 

"I think you can say so," she faced him, her smile widening and then fading, but gave no further explanation. There was something unsettling about her expression, for the sadness seemed to make her even more beautiful. They lay down and stared into the depth of the sky pierced with the light of endless stars. They were silent. After some time, Sniezka got to her feet and started slowly walking into the water. She did not take off her dress, did not shudder as the water rose above her knees, above her belly. She did not stop walking, as if entranced, as her face touched, and broke the surface of the water, still going down. 

Geralt shook himself from the strange stun, and rushed into the water, dressed as he was, splashing about. He had to pull her out, had to save her. But when he reached the place where she went in, he could not see her. He turned about, in shock, sending sprays of water around as he searched with his hands. He dove. She could not have already drowned, she had to be close. He moved with the current, and finally saw a glimpse of pale legs in the water, and darted there, to grab, to pull her out. Only to find his hands empty. Disoriented, he surfaced to fill his lungs, and splashed and spluttered, astonished. Sniezka was holding herself on the surface, moving her arms and legs in the water to remain in one spot. Her laughter scattered against the surface, like pearls falling from a pouch and rolling in all directions. 

"Is that how Witchers swim?" she asked, perfectly calm, if only amused. 

"I thought... I went in to save you," he panted, trying to calm his breathing and his heartbeat. Prodding with his feet, he found a spot where he could stand, just his face and neck above the water.  
She swam slowly to him, and unable to stand in the too deep for her waters, she put her arms over his shoulders to hold onto him. Without his mind taking any part in it, his one arm closed around her waist to keep her still, the other working underwater for balance. Her cold wet fingers ran over his cheek.

"You can't save me, Witcher," she said with a melancholy smile."But you can help me."

"How?" he croaked, his throat constricted. "What do I need to do?"

"No one but my parents know of what I am, of how I came to be. I want someone else to know. Someone else to care, when I'm no longer here. I want to tell you. And I want you to listen." 

He nodded, his chin touching the water, let her go, and both swam towards the shore. Neither was wearing too many clothes on that warm evening, but with all their garb completely soaked, and a light wind picking up in the night, Geralt felt the chill crawl over his skin. He worked his way out of his clinging shirt and trousers with difficulty, and stretched them on a nearby tree. He apologised to Sniezka for his appearance with a smirk, it was after all her fault. She only wrung her dress and her hair out and laughed. He noticed she did not shiver at all, in fact she looked like she was relishing the cold. The Witcher could barely take his eyes off her body completely visible beneath the thin slick dress, which accentuated her hardened nipples, her slender legs. He finally looked away, and started collecting twigs.

"I'll make a quick fire," he cleared his throat, "to dry up our clothes. We'll freeze otherwise." He felt the touch of her hand on his bare shoulder.

"No. Please. Cold doesn't bother me, and... I could... make you warm." As he faced her, she crashed her lips onto his, and he, inexplicably, dizzyingly felt his mouth returning her kiss; his tongue twisting around hers, cool and quick and sweet, like a drop of frozen liquor; his hands running down from her shoulders to her waist, his thumbs brushing against her breasts on the way. He tore himself away from her with a groan, panting, shaking his head.

"No, I can't. I can't. You are beautiful, you are amazing and mysterious, and in another time I'd be honoured to know you like that, but... I'm sorry," he shook his head again, "but I love someone else, I can't do this to her. I know you can understand that." She gave him a weak pained smile, her lower lip quivering slightly. 

"I can. It's... alright... It's beautiful," she sounded like she almost choked on her smile, and he was unsure if the drops running down her cheeks came from her soaked hair or from her shimmering blue eyes. "I wish someone would love me that way." 

"They will, I'm sure, I know it. If there isn't a lad in the village who pines after you already. There have to be many lads who can't stop thinking about you, would do anything for you," he spoke fervently, fully believing in his own words. She shook her head.

"There's no time." He did not understand what she meant, but did not know what question to ask. 

"Can you just hold me?" To his own mortification, he waited a heartbeat, he hesitated, uncertain of his ability to control himself. And before he answered, she added, "I promised to tell you about me", and he nodded.

His back rested against the tree trunk and she clung to his side. His arm was around her shoulders as she spoke softly, and from time to time his chin rested on the top of her head. She told him her parents' story he already knew from the Ealdorman. And then she recounted how one winter day the elderly couple were watching children playing outside in the snow, and how grief and sadness filled the old woman, and how her husband took her by the hand and went out and started making a figure out of snow. The man used to be a carpenter, and he took out some of his old tools and from big balls of snow he carved a face, and arms and legs, and body. And the woman brought some shawls to wrap the figure into. They so yearned for a child that had never been given to them, they found solace in making a likeness of a girl from snow. And she came to life. 

"I," she said in a voice full of wonder and admiration and pure love, "came to life. Just over two savaeds ago. I'm not a child, mind you, I've lived that whole life a child would live growing into a woman, but so much quicker. I haven't been here long, and won't live for much longer." She spoke calmly, but the Witcher could not accept her fatalism. He felt something scraping in his throat, like he had swallowed a piece of barbed wire. He took a deep breath and faced her.

"There should be something I can do, something someone can do. Is this some kind of a curse?" She smiled and ran her hand along his cheek, along the stubble on his chin.  
"You're a Witcher, you well know it's not a curse: it's magic cast by a powerful sorcerer, or a miracle granted by a deity, either way, I was wished into existence, I was a gift they asked for. And I made them happy. And I was happy. I, however, can't stand the heat. So I won't be here when all the poets come, I will have vanished," Geralt could not wrap his head around her not feeling as sad as he thought she would, and not trying to find a way out, a solution. He had to try.

"There gotta be something that can be done. You could... move further north, somewhere in the mountains."

"I was created to share my parents company, and love. I couldn't just leave them, that would betray my purpose. And they are too old and frail to follow me north."

"Magic then," he did not give up, "I know sorceresses, powerful ones, I'll ask them to help, they will."

"You are sweet. But nothing can change what I am. Don't be sad for me, Geralt. I've known joy and friendship and... some kinds of love at least. I have seen some of this world, the best of it, I think. It is more, I believe, than many experience in their whole long lives. I was not just a gift for my parents, my life was as much a gift for myself." 

He only became aware he was kissing her, ardently, desperately, when his lungs signalled the lack of air. He would do it. He realised with astonishment, fear, and hope all entwined, that he was going to do it: he was going to let this magical wisp of a woman feel another kind of love, and hoped that Yen would understand. He would explain her that what this girl was feeling was similar to his own dreadful loneliness, his own undying hope for the love returned when he was without her, without Yennefer. She would understand. It was the right thing to do. She could understand that.

After a momentary hesitation, the young woman's mouth answered his, and she allowed him to trail kisses down her throat, and undo the top two buttons of her dress, and move his lips from her collarbone to her still half-covered breast. There she moaned, and stopped him, her hands pushing against his chest. He watched her, and waited, both panting. He did not want to do something she did not choose herself. She looked him in the eyes for a long time, and then, her palms still on his bare chest, her fingers over his scars, planted a slow, chaste kiss on his lips. 

"Thank you," she whispered. "Let us go now. The feast must be at its highest." Before he could protest, she quickly stood up and rearranged her still damp clothes, "And there will be games!" She tried to sound cheerful, and she almost did. Geralt squeezed his eyes, but quickly got up, dressed, and followed her. 

They did not speak returning to the village, but she held his hand as they walked. There was a dance in her step as she looked around and marvelled at everything: the smell of the pine trees, the tiny lights of the fireflies, the murmur of the river, and a falling star. 

This time Geralt did not think about anyone seeing them returning together, holding hands at that. He did not want to let her go. But they joined in the drinking and singing, and then Sniezka was pulled away by a bevy of girls and lads, her friends, and into a round dance. She fell into step with the others, and swirled, and laughed when she turned to search for him in the crowd and found his eyes smiling back at her. 

He lost sight of her for a while, he was never the one for dancing. So he continued to drink, and talk to people around him, presided by the Ealdorman. Amid the loud voices of those speaking and singing, and the clanking of tankards, they did not hear when the final game of the night had started. Geralt cursed himself, how could he forget? When the bonfires became lower and tamer, the tradition was for young people to jump over them, for luck, for their own fertility, or to make a wish. The Witcher spun around, looking for Sniezka, but could not see her anywhere. The Ealdorman stared at him as if he was a madman, but when Geralt yelled to everyone around to find her, because she was in danger, they listened. They clumsily got on their feet, but quickly went in different directions, drunkenly calling out her name. 

It was Geralt who found her first. She was some hundred paces away, facing him, next in line to jump. He ran.

"No! Sniezka!" 

She beamed at him. 

"Thank you," she shouted, took a few steps and jumped, still smiling. 

The screams split the air, but none of them were hers. Her dress fell into the fire, fuelling the flames, causing them to spurt. And above, rose a thin white cloud. The Witcher fell to his knees, helpless, and watched. It floated up, slowly, caught, caressed by the wind. He watched, unblinking, until he felt a sting at the back of his eyes, until there was nothing left at all. 

"What's happened here, Witcher? Where's Sniezka?" The Ealdorman was heaving heavy breaths.

"She was a snow girl," Geralt muttered, drawing a painful breath. He thought that, had Dandelion been there, he might have added that, for a snow girl, she had too much fire in her heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Sniezka's story is in fact a Russian folk tale, which seemed to fit perfectly into the Witcher universe. The name Śnieżka is the Polish equivalent of the Russian Snegurochka (Snow Maiden). 
> 
> I had doubts about the ending, and did consider Geralt saving her somehow in the end, but I decided this ending is fitting for this universe. Geralt is not always able to save each who needs saving, and there are not enough happy ending to go around for everyone. I don't feel this story as entirely sad though. I'd love to know what you think.


End file.
